


The Cries in the Night

by pushingcrazies



Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-21
Updated: 2007-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-30 17:50:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushingcrazies/pseuds/pushingcrazies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sorry for the crappy title. Postending, take your pick which one, but Erik is still alive. Christine and Erik are happily married and awaiting the birth of their first son. Told from Meg's, and then Erik's, stream of conscience point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cries in the Night

The screams tear through the air, but Meg thinks that this must be okay, that every mother feels such overwhelming pain as she brings a new life into the world. Her mother always told her that birthing pains awaken a mother's love, or something like that, and it is this thought that keeps the young woman from panicking, keeps her holding tightly to her best friend's hand. And her mother is there as well. Her mother would never allow anything to go wrong. This child – a boy, she is sure – will make it safely into the world, and Christine will just take a few days to recover before she is back to her usual happy self.

Meg looks to her mother. There is worry etched into the older woman's face, but that is okay because it is a very trying thing to help a woman give birth. Her mother has had experience with these sorts of things before; she knows what she is doing, even if neither Meg nor Christine do. These thoughts flee with the next contraction, the next scream, the next painful squeeze of her hand, and all Meg can think about is to keep Christine breathing normally, squeeze her hand back and tell her to breathe, breathe.

An hour passes, two, but it is nothing to worry about, for Meg knows these things take time. She has heard her mother and midwives speak of women who were in labour for hours on end. It seems like forever since Raoul came knocking at their door, but really it has only been a few hours. Now he paces out in the sitting room as the women tend to his wife. He is nervous, but that is to be expected of a new father – how would he know what happens to a woman giving birth? Surely these cries grate on him worse than they do on Meg, and she feels a brief stab of pity for the man.

A while later, and the baby is not coming properly, and Christine has grown so very quiet. Madame Giry has sent a servant out to fetch the doctor, but that is alright because the doctor knows better than anyone how to keep things from going wrong. And things do seem to be going wrong, though Meg cannot quite put her finger on what they might be. She can only hope that when her time comes to be in this position it will happen much smoother, and pray that Christine and her baby come through the ordeal unharmed.

The doctor arrives and assesses the situation. Meg has not once left her friend's side, continuing to clasp her hand, even as the doctor urges her to move aside so that he may easily get to Christine's side. There is worry in his face, too, and now Meg feels the beginnings of panic as well. Still, she keeps hope. Somebody has to.

"It doesn't look good."

"There must be something you can do."

"There are a few things I can try. The problem is, she is not nearly dilated enough for the baby to pass through easily, but she is losing quite a bit of blood. The longer we wait the more blood she loses..."

Meg cannot bear to hear any more. She closes her eyes and blocks out the sound of other voices, focusing solely on the tight grip on her hand and her prayers. So long as she can feel Christine's strength, she won't worry. So long as she continues to pray, God won't take Christine's soul.

_Heavenly father, see Christine through this ordeal safely. Stay by her side as she brings her son into this world. See to it she has the ability to hold on. Keep in her mind those things that are precious to her, so that she will remember what she fights for. She is a good woman, a loving wife, a pious soul – if anyone deserves a happy, long life, it is she who has already suffered so much in her short time on this Earth._

And slowly the prayers begin to change.

_Angel of Music, if ever there was a time when Christine needs you, it is now. Not to make her a wonderful singer whose voice reduces men to tears, but to hold her hand in place of mine and lend her your strength. You alone, I feel, can bring her through this. Where are you now that she needs you most? Why won't you come to her? Monsieur Daae, if you hear me, if you can, send your Angel of Music to your daughter. Help her. Help me help her. Help her. Help her…._

* * *

Erik sits at his organ, unable to play, unable to compose, yet unable to sleep. He is full of a vibrant, consuming energy that has him pacing his home, going from place to place, never able to stop and rest. Even as he sits before his beloved instrument, one foot taps impatiently, but it is too quick a beat for him to make anything of it. He knows not what occupies his mind so; he knows only that something is happening that he must be aware of.

He considers leaving the opera house to roam the dark streets – maybe there he will find his peace. But he has only recently been able to reclaim and restore his dwelling after the mob nearly decimated it over a year ago, and he is loath to leave the place.

Time passes. He is not entirely sure how much, but the minutes seem to stretch on for ages. He plays tunelessly for a while, letting his fingers and mind wander without him, a sort of meditative trance to help him discover what might be lurking within his thoughts that keeps him awake. A tune begins to emerge. It is haunting and lovely, so very familiar. Words begin to come back to him, and he knows it now immediately. The music of the night. The song he wrote purely for Christine.

Why should she be in his thoughts tonight of all nights, and so passionately? This date holds no special meaning, no anniversary of a first or last meeting or milestone. He knows she still lives here in Paris, but he has not seen her since that night so many endless days, weeks, months ago. He had left Paris for many weeks, letting the fervor die down, trying to forget his beloved. No, preserve her. He wanted to remember the last moments of their encounter, when she kissed him, when she gave him that ring. He studiously attempted to forget everything else, of how she had betrayed him, how she had chosen that boy over him. And slowly, he had put her aside. He returned to the city, to his opera house, and began to repair the damage to his lair. He had recently started on plans to use his considerable savings (20,000 francs a month really _was_ an outrageous sum, after all, for good reason) towards rebuilding the entire house – all through Madame Giry, of course. He kept his mind occupied that he would not think of Christine.

But now, she haunts him once more. She comes, unbidden, into his mind, consuming his thoughts with the flame of her being. She-

A far-off sound interrupts his train of thought. His fingers still, but the music lingers in the air, heavy and suffocating. Someone is trying to get down to his home. Who would be so foolish to brave the crumbling building to seek him? Surely not….but he daren't get his hopes up too quickly. He grabs his lasso from off the floor and heads in the direction of the intruder.

He is careful, watchful, but even his catlike eyes nearly miss the crumpled heap of person curled up in a tight ball somewhere near the middle of the winding staircase. The form is undoubtedly female – or else a very small man – and seems to be shaking uncontrollably. At his approach, she looks up; he immediately recognizes the features of little Meg Giry. Not so little now, though, he realizes with a start. He had completely forgotten about how she must be a young woman now, barely a year younger than his Christine.

Upon seeing him, she does not recoil like she would expect him to, but rather breathes a sigh of relief. "I was afraid I'd gotten lost." Her voice sounds so small, betraying his earlier thoughts of adulthood.

He kneels next to her. Anyone else would have received scorn and a command to leave at once, but this is little Meg, whom he had coddled as a baby. He had lost track of her once Christine had become his student, but now he can't imagine why. She and her mother both alone could still claim whatever remained of his shattered heart, and that is the only reason he does not send her away, not yet. "Why are you here?"

Her smile is tiny and watery, but it is there. "Gustave Erik de Chagny was born this morning at 2:23."

He feels a sort of awe sweep over him, the exact same sense he felt when she had kissed him, and dimly he thinks his face must reflect his thoughts, just as it had that time, too, but he does not care. Meg continues, "She said to Mother, 'what is his name?' I thought at first she meant the baby, and I was going to tell her that was her decision, but mother simply said 'Erik.' And Christine replied, 'Gustave for my father, and Erik for my angel.' And I understood. So I am here to let you know."

He knows he is nearly grinning now, and wonders why Meg doesn't share in his sheer delight. She seems so exhausted and there is a deep sense of sorrow in her eyes that doesn't quite match the smile on her lips. His own fades. He opens his mouth to ask why, when she suddenly launches herself at him, arms around his neck. He can barely hear her next words as she speaks them into his collar.

"Christine died at 2:48 this morning. She knew it, and she said goodbye to Raoul, asked that her baby should always know her. But her last words to me were 'Make sure my child has his Angel of Music, always. And tell him I love him.'"

Erik, like Meg, understood she didn't mean the baby.


End file.
